BooksBarbecue
Back For Ever
Chapters (63)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Map of the Willowhaven
  4. Map of Rosehill City
  5. Foreword
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. Epilogue
  62. Map of Rosehill City
  63. Also by Jenny Hickman

He glances down, his cheeks flushing. “Do you really think so? My mother says it’s too whimsical.”

The queen couldn’t be more wrong. Even if this home isn’t her style or preference, there is no denying the talent it took to create something so beautiful. “It’s perfect.”

He pushes off the frame, stepping closer. “It could be yours, you know. If you were to marry me.”

A tempting offer, but a house—even one as fine as this—doesn’t make a marriage. It’s the people who live in it. As talented as Ronan may be, we only just met. Yes, he is handsome and rich, but he is also a stranger.

Who is he deep down? Is he caring? Giving? Does he understand that true beauty doesn’t live on the surface, but in a person’s heart? In their soul?

I sink onto the end of the bed and tuck my hands beneath my thighs to keep from fidgeting. “I hear that you’ve been fending off marriage proposals for years. Why are you so interested in matrimony now?”

He pauses, as if genuinely considering his answer. “I feel as if I’ve been waiting.”

I’ve been waiting.

I’ve been waiting.

I’ve been waiting.

When I speak, my voice is no more than a whisper. “Waiting for what?”

The legs of his trousers brush against the silk of my skirts. “For this house to be finished so that I have a place of my own.”

Disappointment sinks like a stone in my stomach. Not that I expected him to say, “For you,” considering we only just met. That would be madness.

Still, a small part of me had hoped for such a confession.

That someone would see me and know.

* * *

Ronan spends the rest of the walk into town pointing out who lives where, naming fae I’ve never even heard of. He is a wealth of information, responding to any questions I have about the city or the buildings with clear, concise answers.

When we finally reach the tea house, we’re given a table along the cobblestone walk where the rich perfume of roses sweetens every inhale. I add honey to my tea, preferring it extra sweet. The peach and blueberry pie served with vanilla custard is transcendent, although the servings are so large, we cannot finish it all.

We talk about everything and nothing, life in the mountains and in the castle, the people we grew up with, and the people we want to be.

Ronan has just refilled our teacups when I catch a glimpse of his friend Trevor making his way up the lane. When Trevor glances at the tea house, our eyes meet, and his lips curve into a smile.

Then he sees Ronan sitting across from me, and his smile fades to a frown.